Reverse Lullaby
by ProneToRelapse
Summary: Crashing after so long spent avoiding sleep makes it hard for Sherlock to wake up. Caught in the place between unconsciousness and wakefulness, he cannot fully wake or fall back asleep. It's fortunate that John knows exactly what to do.


It's not that he minds having to fall asleep. In fact, the relief that comes from being able to close his eyes and let his entire body _relax_; to feel the tension that has been building since the last time he woke up bleed out of his body and leave him feeling light and content is unlike any other. Sherlock will always crash gladly after a protracted period of uninterrupted consciousness, allowing his mind to slip into a dormant state, like the sleep mode on a computer.

It's not the falling he minds, or the dreams that haven't been nightmares for years.

It's the waking up.

And not for the reasons you'd think.

There's a state between sleep and wakefulness that Sherlock always finds himself in after a drawn-out slumber. His mind is caught in this fragile web and held there, unable to fully return to his body but unable to drift back into sleep. It's this state that makes Sherlock afraid to sleep, because when he's in this state, he has no control over his body and that, more than anything, scares him.

This particular fear stems from cold nights in God knows where, his head pounding because there is too much cocaine in his system and he _can't move. _Because these are the memories he wants to delete but can't, and they cause a malfunction that Sherlock really can't handle.

These incidents are not nearly as common as they used to be. Sherlock can only surmise that the reason is that he is no longer sleeping alone whenever he does allow his body to rejuvenate. They have only occurred perhaps sixteen times since John Watson moved in, and for the last eight times, John has been the one to help Sherlock out of the state. It's taken a while for John to figure out the best way of helping – even Sherlock doesn't know what will help in these situations – but he's intuitive and determined and willing to find out.

/

It's eleven o'clock on a Thursday night when John comes to bed, switching off the landing lights and changing methodically into his pyjamas. Sherlock is already asleep and has been since Wednesday lunchtime. He doesn't stir when John slips under the covers – pleasantly warm from Sherlock's body heat – and props himself up against the headboard to read for a while before falling asleep. He reaches over to absently card his fingers through Sherlock's hair. After a few seconds he looks over. Normally Sherlock nuzzles into his touch, no matter how deeply he is asleep.

Sherlock is lying flat on his back, an unusual position as he normally prefers to sleep curled up on his side. He also prefers to sleep lying sprawled over John but that's a different story altogether. Right now his mouth is slack with sleep but his breathing is uneven. His eyes are flickering wildly under his lids.

"Sherlock?" John calls his name softly, gently nudging the detective's bare shoulder. He usually forgoes pyjamas, preferring to sleep in just his underwear. Sherlock doesn't respond. John calls his name louder. Still Sherlock does not make any indication that John is reaching him.

John puts his book down on the table beside the bed and shifts so that he is leaning towards Sherlock, his weight braced on his right arm as he gently cups Sherlock's cheek in his left hand. He lowers his head and gently brushes his lips over Sherlock's forehead, kissing along to his temples before moving down to press tender kisses to Sherlock's closed eyes.

"You're asleep," John murmurs softly, "but I know you can hear me." He gets to his knees and places one palm directly over Sherlock's heart. It's racing in his chest, a clear indicator that Sherlock has entered that half-woken state that he dreads. John kisses the sharp curve of Sherlock's cheekbones and continues to murmur softly.

"You're safe," he breathes, trailing his fingertips down over the defined lines of Sherlock's jawbones and down to the hollow in his throat. "You're in Baker Street, in 221B with me and you're safe." He carefully nudges Sherlock's knees apart and settles himself between them. He knows Sherlock finds this position comforting – he's said so himself.

Sherlock's heartbeat increases and a harsh breath is dragged in past his lips. John places both hands on either side of Sherlock's long neck, caressing down the elegant slopes of his lover's shoulders. John rubs his thumbs against Sherlock's clavicles, pressing his lips to Sherlock's.

"You're awake," John says clearly, pulling his mouth away. "You can move. Sherlock, you can move."

And Sherlock does move. He groans softly and arches his back, eyelids dragging upwards to reveal those glittering orbs that are unfocused, dazed and watery with sleep. John holds Sherlock's face in his hands as the detective slowly comes back to himself; the dazed expression falling from his face. He looks at John for a long moment, throat working as he swallows. He stretches hugely, the lines of his body pulling taught like the strings of his beloved violin.

"John," he murmurs. His voice is deep; a low rumble in his chest. He reaches out to place his hands on John's forearms. "Thank you."

John leans down to kiss him. "How long where you under?"

Sherlock shifts and grimaces. "A little under two hours."

It's irrational, but John still feels guilty. "I'm sorry. I should have been here sooner…"

"Shh," Sherlock says and moves his hands to John's shoulders to coax his doctor to lay his weight on top of him. "It's not your fault. And that's the shortest I've ever been under before you've noticed."

John relaxes into the curves of Sherlock's body. The detective's heartbeat has slowed. He's calm.

"How long was I asleep?" Sherlock murmurs after a few moments. He slides his fingers into John's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. John hums contentedly.

"About thirty-four hours," John says. Sherlock looks pleasantly surprised.

"Usually, the longer I sleep, the longer I'm under," he murmurs. "I wasn't under for long this time. It's changing. Good."

John raises his head to look at Sherlock who stares back at him evenly. His pupils are wider than normal and a slow smile stretches across John's face as he feels something shift against his stomach. Sherlock looks unabashed.

"Everything's waking up now," John says teasingly. Sherlock's eyes glint mischievously and he coaxes John to move up his body for a kiss. John complies willingly, sliding his mouth hotly against Sherlock's with a low moan of pleasure. Sherlock's arms encircle his shoulders and he holds John tight against his body, on hand moving to the hem of John's top to pull it up, only breaking their kiss when necessary. John helps him pull the pyjama top off and throw it to the floor.

"John," he purrs. "John."

"Sherlock." John kisses a hot trail down Sherlock's chest, fingers hooking into the edge of Sherlock's underwear and pulling them down. They join his shirt on the floor and Sherlock moans softly as John closes his mouth over one nipple, sliding his tongue wetly over the hardened nub. Sherlock shivers as John teases his sensitive skin, fingers tightening in John's hair as he tries to secure John's mouth against his skin.

When John pulls away – earning a gasp from Sherlock by biting gently down on the nipple he's been focusing his attention on – he lowers his mouth to the hot skin of Sherlock's thighs, breathing in the scent of him that's so uniquely Sherlock that his mouth waters. He drags his lips across the hot skin to mouth at the base of Sherlock's erection. Sherlock whines and cants his hips upwards. John smirks privately and lifts up to slide his mouth down onto Sherlock's cock, humming contentedly.

"_John_," Sherlock pants, throwing one arm over his face, the fingers of the other twisting in the sheets. His thighs tremble with the effort of keeping still so John places his hands on Sherlock's hips to hold them in place. He relaxes his throat and takes Sherlock deeper, the head of his cock rubbing teasingly at the back of John's throat. Sherlock hisses in pleasure, rolling his hips, pushing against John's restricting arm. His breath hitches and John pulls back slightly. With a low groan muffled by his arm, Sherlock comes in long hot pulses that John swallows eagerly.

"You're still tired." John notes the drooping of Sherlock's lids, the pliancy of his body. Sherlock reaches for him, wanting to return the favour but John catches his hands and presses kisses to the inside of his thin wrists, first the right then the left. "Go back to sleep."

"What about you?" Sherlock slurs.

"I'm fine. Plenty of time for that later. Sleep with me?"

Sherlock hums and curls himself around John's body like a limpet. John smiles to himself and reaches out to turn the bedside lamp off. Within moments Sherlock is softly snoring and John knows he'll wake up in a few hours, rejuvenated and ready to tackle their next case.

He'll sleep well tonight.


End file.
